


Day 6-7

by rhysgore



Series: Kinktober 2016 [5]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Anal Gaping, Creampie, Dubious Consent, Electrocution, Humiliation, Kinktober, M/M, Sadism, Size Kink, yknow just volgin things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 00:04:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8229355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysgore/pseuds/rhysgore
Summary: He's a hedonist, plain and simple.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for kinktober day 6-7: size difference + creampie. also as an excuse for more volgin porn bc i stray farther from the light of god every day.

It’s difficult to keep a man like Volgin satisfied.

 

Maybe it’s because of the money, maybe it’s just what he’s used to, but something about the man demands that whatever amount of anything is standard for a normal person, he needs more than that. He eats an enormous amount, he can drink anyone in Groznyj Grad under the table with ease, and his rooms demand only the finest decoration. He’s a hedonist, plain and simple.

 

When it comes to the subject of lovers, it’s the same. Raikov is his favorite toy, getting out of their times together with no marks on him except what he wants (which, granted, still leave him bruised, battered, and bleeding), but sometimes quite literally fucking him unconscious isn’t enough to sate Volgin’s appetite. When he can’t get what he wants out of his first choice, he goes to Tatyana. And when  _ she _ ceases to amuse him…

 

… That’s when Ocelot finds himself bent over a bed, or a desk in this case, legs spread, half-wincing and half-groaning as two massive, wet fingers work their way in and out of him.

 

“Loosen up, Major!” The hard, stinging slap against his ass isn’t exactly exacerbating his relaxation, nor is the way the hand not currently fingering him moves immediately from that back to holding down his neck. His face is effortlessly pressed down into the hard wood, breath coming in weak gasps as his windpipe is half-crushed under the huge palm. The fingers in him twist cruelly, scissoring him open. “You almost make it seem like you  _ don’t  _ want this.”

 

The pressure on his neck is alleviated for a moment, and Ocelot coughs.

 

“I want it,” he says, stiffly. A third finger works its way into him without preamble, and Volgin twists one of his arms, pinning it to his back in a position that makes it feel like his shoulder could be dislocated at any moment.

 

“Not  _ good  _ enough, Ocelot.” The Colonel never  _ hisses-  _ his voice booms in his chest even when he’s trying to be quietly threatening. Ocelot isn’t a small man himself, but he always feels smaller next to Volgin, especially when the man’s entire body mass is holding him completely immobile, especially when Volgin presses his hips to Ocelot’s backside and he can  _ feel  _ what the man is packing, even through the thick fabric of his uniform.

 

Ocelot swallows. “I want it,  _ sir.” _ Grimacing and clenching his free hand into a fist as the fingers inside him stretch him mercilessly.

 

It’s better this way, he tells himself. It’s better than Volgin deciding it’s a good idea to shove that monster inside of him with absolutely no preparation. It doesn’t make it hurt any less when Volgin removes his fingers and goes to pull at Ocelot’s hair instead, winding in the short blonde locks and  _ yanking, _ pulling Ocelot’s head off the table _.  _ Ocelot doesn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know exactly how it hurts- he grits his teeth and sets his jaw, and remains silent even when his face is slammed back down again.

 

“Say it again.” He wants to hear the exact moment Ocelot breaks. They’ve played this game before.

 

“I want it. Sir.”

 

“What do you want, Major?” Fingers dig into his wrist, and Ocelot feels his arm go numb and tingly, then spasm as Volgin sends a jolt of electricity through it. He won’t break. He won’t.

 

“I want your cock in my ass.” Volgin presses against him more firmly, rubbing himself against Ocelot. His hole is practically gaping already, and they haven’t even gotten to the main event.

 

“Close. But not quite right.” Another hard shock- this one ekes a gasp out of Ocelot as it arcs up his spine. Painful, crude coercion, but effective.

 

“I want- your big- fat cock- in my ass-  _ Sir.”  _ He punctuates every pause with a grind, hoping he can goad Volgin into finishing this quickly. The longer this goes on, the higher the chance that he’ll be seriously injured.  _ “Please,”  _ he adds, as an afterthought.

 

It works like a charm. The one thing Volgin values above all else in his partners is submissiveness. Some of them just have longer leashes than others. Ocelot hears a belt being undone, a rustle of fabric, and then there’s something hot and solid and  _ huge  _ sliding over the cleft of his ass. His arm and hair are given a brief respite as Volgin grips his cheeks, spreading them apart roughly.

 

The first push of Volgin’s cock into him makes Ocelot scrape his fingernails against the desk. Even with the prep work, he still feels like he’s being split apart, head thudding against the table as it enters him inch by inch. His eyes squeeze shut as he tries to stay as still as possible.

 

When Volgin is all the way inside him, Ocelot swears he can feel it in his guts. He grits his teeth as Volgin adjusts his bruising grip on his hips and starts to move, long, brutal strokes that have him pulling out almost entirely before he slams back in all the way, giving Ocelot no time to rest. 

 

It isn’t long before there’s a hand in his hair again, pulling his head back so Ocelot’s spine arches, and the new angle has him shouting in pleasurepain. Teeth clamp down on his shoulder, hard enough to draw blood, and electricity tingles over his waist, tiny, sharp sparks jumping from Volgin’s hand to the skin there.

 

“Where’s that big mouth of yours  _ now,  _ Major? Did you wear it out talking back to me all day?” He growls, biting down again, again, leaving bloody gouges as he continues to piston his hips brutally. “Nothing to say anymore that someone’s finally teaching you your  _ place?” _

 

“Uuh… uhh-” Ocelot can’t form a full word, thoughts scattering with every movement, every thrum of pain or pleasure that vibrates through him. He’s stretched so wide around Volgin’s cock, his own trapped between his stomach and the desk, rubbed raw every time a thrust is hard enough to move his body up on the desk. “F- uck-”

 

His head is slammed down again, and he hears something in his face crack. Probably his nose.

 

“Pathetic,” Volgin sneers, pumping his hips. Ocelot can smell blood, feel his head and cock throbbing in tandem. His arms are limp by his sides- even if he could do anything, he’s not sure he’d be able to move, and he swears he can feel something pressing out his abdomen with each deep thrust. “Is this how you got your rank, Major? On your stomach? Or did they prefer you on your back?”

 

“N-n-” It’s humiliating, he wants to deny it, but he can’t fucking  _ talk,  _ especially after a powerful shock makes his entire body seize up, skin tingling wherever something touches it. Volgin’s hands, the desk, the huge hips that keep slamming into his ass, the sensation is too fucking  _ much  _ for him to handle.

 

He comes, hard enough to see white, and Volgin fucks him through it, grunting as his fucktoy tightens up underneath him, pinning down Ocelot’s arms when he tries to push away, the overstimulation painful, ripping him apart, hands brutally and uncaringly pinning him in place as he’s pounded into with renewed vigor.

 

“I see your reputation as a quick shot doesn’t just apply to your skill with guns,” the man sneers, and Ocelot fucking  _ sobs. _

 

Volgin doesn’t even bother to pull out when he comes. He leaves Ocelot lying on his desk, bleeding and almost in tears, ass open wide and come leaking steadily out of the abused hole. Ocelot tries to clench up, to keep it in until he can find somewhere private to sort everything else, but he can’t, and the sight of him desperately trying to keep his dripping, gaping hole closed is one that Volgin apparently finds amusing, if his low chuckle is anything to go by.

  
“Clean yourself up, Major,” he says as he walks towards his own private bathrooms. “You’re still on duty.”


End file.
